


Trust Issues

by tielan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Sleep, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3128765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he had another codename – <i>Silverfox</i> for example - then he might very well be making a den. But he’s <i>Hawkeye</i> and therefore he makes a nest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Issues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jena Bartley (jenab)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenab/gifts).



> [Sleeping headcanon for Clint Barton](http://tielan.livejournal.com/740344.html). With due blame to **scribble_myname** for instigating, but gifted to **Jena** because she likes these Maria &/Clint moments. :)

There’s only one bed in the hidey-hole in Haiphong, and they booked it in the guise of a couple.

It’s not very big.

Which is an advantage when it comes to setting up alarms and tripwires and ensuring that their peace and privacy is undisturbed until S.H.I.E.L.D. can get them out of this part of the world, but is less great when it comes to actually getting some sleep.

“You’d better not snore, Hill,” is all Barton says as he makes himself a nest.

Maria thinks of it as a ‘nest’ because that’s basically what it is – a huddle of coverings that Barton retreats into while sleeping and doesn’t come out of until morning. If he had another codename – _Silverfox_ for example, then he might very well be making a den. But he’s _Hawkeye_ and therefore he makes a nest.

“You’d better not kick,” is her retort.

They get an early night, partly because they’re tired (it was a long, and difficult mission, in a place where they stood out like sore thumbs, to get hold of an urgent piece of information they hope won’t prove to be a dead end) and partly because they’ve got a long day ahead as they make their way out to the rendesvous point for pick-up.

Maria falls asleep the way she usually does – face-down, one arm off the bed so her hand is within inches of a firearm or knife, her shoes firmly on her feet in case they have to pick up and get going in the middle of the night. It’s not the most comfortable way to sleep, but it’s saved her life at least once.

It’s not the pose that keeps her from falling asleep, though.

It’s Barton.

It’s the way he shifts across just as she’s on the verge of sleep, nudging up against her side. And in the half-drowsing way of people trying to make themselves more comfortable, Maria eases herself over. Except that some time later, again on the verge of sleep, she’s aware that the heat source in the bed has again shifted over.

“Barton,” she mutters. Then, louder, “Barton!”

“What?”

“Shove over. You’re hogging the bed.”

He makes a disgusted noise. “I don’t hog.”

“Yes, you do.”

He moves back across the mattress, grumbling as he flops back down. They relax back into the sounds of the night – chatter, motor, and karaoke in the garden restaurant on the other side of the fence.

Maria falls asleep. Almost. It’s too hot, so she eases herself away to somewhere cooler. Only it grows warm again, and so she shifts again. And the warmth follows her, trying to snuggle in, even as she tries to get awa—

_Ouch!_

It takes her a moment to realise what she’s doing on the floor.

It takes all her concentration _not_ to shoot Barton’s head off when he peers over the edge of the mattress, blue eyes bleary, a faint frown creasing his brow. “Hill?”

The human throat is probably not supposed to be able to growl this way.

* * *

“Yes,” says Coulson when Maria complains. “He does that.”

Maria tries to stare him down, but he has twenty years on her and meets her gaze with cool placidity.

It’s not until after the rest of the report is given and Maria’s packing to go home and get a decent night’s sleep that Coulson addresses the matter again. “Consider it a measure of how much he trusts you.”

* * *

Barton thinks the lump the size of an ostrich egg on her forehead is funny.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff looks at the bed, and the pile of blankets at the bottom of it. She eyes the hand-lettered cardboard sign taped to the wall above the bed: _TRUST TEST_.

This is not what she expected when she agreed to the orientation and training S.H.I.E.L.D feels is necessary before they’ll let her out into the field.

She looks at Agent Barton, who’s glaring at the sign as though it’s personally offended him. “Ah. An in-joke?”

He huffs once. “Oh, I’m _so_ going to kill her.”

 


End file.
